


Terrible Life Choices

by Ptolemia



Category: Borderlands, Tales from the Borderlands - Fandom
Genre: I have no shame and absolutely no excuses for the mountainous pile of crap which I have produced, M/M, unapologetic trash ship nonsense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-21
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-04-05 12:57:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4180671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ptolemia/pseuds/Ptolemia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rhys wakes up in bed with Vasquez. A morning full of embarrassment, probably non-poisoned scrambled eggs, and some shocking revelations about what a truly awful wing-woman Yvette is ensues. Unapologetically stupid crack!fic of the worst kind for the trash ship you never knew you wanted. Unless you did, in which case, please, please write some more fic because I'm fucking desperate here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Terrible Life Choices

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably set some time before the events of the game. Because, come on, prior to the whole business with Vasquez murdering their boss and ruining Rhys' life, there's gotta have been a point where they were a little more friendly in their rivalry? Right?? Surely??? So I'm pitching this as like... Rhys probably likes to make out that Vasquez is the Worst Person Ever but actually kinda has the hots for him. And maybe also a kind of begrudging respect. Maybe.

Rhys wakes up in a tangle of arms and legs. For a minute he thinks he must be back home – perhaps he was dragged back by Yvette and then passed out during a game of drunken monopoly with Vaughn? It's happened before. But, no, whoever this is, they're taller than Vaughn. Ok, so... dragged back home by Vaughn and passed out during a drunken game of monopoly with Yvette? Also something that has happened in the past. Only Yvette is slimmer than whoever this is, which means... Rhys grins to himself in the dark and stretches out a little. This definitely means he got laid. Or he's branching out in terms of who he plays monopoly with when he's drunk. Then he opens his eyes, and immediately wishes he hadn't.

 

“Oh shit,” he says, suddenly very aware that he is naked, and that his drunken self has been known to make some pretty awful decisions in the past.

Vasquez stirs, blinking slightly and shuffling hair out of his eyes.

“Please tell me we were playing monopoly.”

Vasquez squints, rubbing his eyes blearily.

“Strip monopoly?” says Rhys, clutching valiantly at whatever straws he can. “Vasquez! Look at me!”

“Well... hello there,” purrs Vasquez.

“Ok, so, you need to look more disgusted RIGHT NOW because I am about to freak out.”

“Well, if that's what you're into...”

“Please tell me we didn't just sleep together.”

“Well, I just woke up, and I'm assuming that you also just woke up, so, technically...”

“Vasquez!”

“Oooh, shouting my name. You know what? That is ringing a bell. Pretty sure I heard that last night.”

Rhys buries his head in his hands and makes a quiet whining noise.

“Yeah, that one too,” says Vasquez.

“You're not helping! Urgh. Where the hell are Vaughn and Yvette? Why didn't they stop me?”

“Wow, hey, this is beginning to hurt my feelings.”

“Wait, ok, Vaughn left early to take a nap... but Yvette? How could she let me do this? How? Wait, maybe she left early too...”

“Mmm, pretty sure that just about the last thing I actually remember is her high-fiving me as we left.” Vasquez frowns to himself, chewing his lip thoughtfully. “No, wait, I remember you getting kinda handsy in the elevator right after that. Must have been kinda impatient, ha. Well, I guess I can't blame you. I mean, look at me, right?”

Rhys, now he thinks about it, can also vaguely remember the elevator – but then, he also remembers thinking that Vasquez was a good kisser, which can't be right. Surely. In any case, the important question remains - “Yvette high-fived you?”

“Ok, well, I feel like the elevator business is probably more worthy of your focus, but yeah. She did.”

“What the fuck, Yvette,” whispers Rhys. “What. The. Fuck.”

Vasquez yawns and pulls the covers back over himself. “Ok, well, it's like five in the morning so how about we both sleep on it some more and we can do the whole action replay thing later if we need to... refresh our memories.”

“Fuck off,” says Rhys, scrambling out of bed and searching around for his jacket. “I don't believe this. I'm gonna call her. I have to call her right now.”

 

Vasquez stretches like some kind of ridiculous oversized cat. “What're you looking for?”

“Jacket. My phone's in my jacket. I need to call Yvette right now and shout at her.”

“Uh, I'm lying on something? Might be your jacket. You could come over here and-”

“No.” says Rhys, flatly.

Vasquez scrabbles under the covers, and produces a pair of pants. “Uh, no, these are mine.”

Rhys peers under a chair. Pair of boxers. He picks them up, then realises they aren't his and drops them immediately, looking vaguely disgusted.

“Oh-ho,” says Vasquez, sounding far too smug for this to possibly be a good thing, “Well well well. Looks like we have an answer to your question.”

Rhys turns round slowly. “Which question?”

“Did we sleep together?” says Vasquez, smirking away and holding up something which looks a lot like...

“Tell me that isn't a condom.”

“This isn't a condom.”

“... it is, isn't it?”

“Yes,” says Vasquez, solemnly, then chuckles, “hey, Rhys, what would you do if I threw it at you?”

“Ok, well, I cannot believe that I have to stipulate this, but I do not want you to throw a used condom at me.”

“Fine, then I won't. Because I respect you, Rhys.”

“You need to stop. Right now.”

Vasquez shrugs. “I mean, sure, I can go back to not respecting you at all.”

“That's not what I... oh, I give up.”

 

Vasquez throws the condom. Rhys squeals.

“Hugo what the ever-loving fuck! Was that!”

“... not a condom?”

“Argh!”

Vasquez pulls a pillow over his eyes. “Shh. It's very early. You'll wake the neighbours.”

“ARGH!”

“Hush hush.”

“It went on my face! That _thing_ was on my _face_.”

“Heh, that's what she said.”

“It was slimy! And it's probably been in your ass and I... oh I do not even want to think about-”

Vasquez sits up, frowning. “Ok, no, if it's been in anyone's ass it's been in your- oh, hey, look, here's your jacket. And here's your phone!”

“Give that here,” Rhys snarls, launching himself onto the bed and snatching the phone from Vasquez's hand. He punches in Yvettes number and waits impatiently, hearing it ring once, twice... Vasquez rolls his eyes and curls back up under the covers.

 

Then the phone connects. “Yvette,” Rhys growls.

“Well good morning, Rhys,” sing-songs Yvette, sounding far too smug for Rhys' liking, “Where are you? Me and Vaughn have been wondering where on earth you could have got to last night.”

“Yvette.”

“Yes?”

“You saw me leave.”

“... yes.”

“With Vasquez?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“And you high-fived him?”

“Hey, what's with this tone?” says Yvette, sounding suspiciously as though she's stifling a giggle. “I resent that.”

“You- you- how could you-”

“Aw, come on, don't get all tetchy with me now. You two were looking kinda cute together! And you know me - always here to cheer on a budding office roma-”

“Yvette,” says Rhys, flatly.

“Also you refused to buy me lunch last week and this is great payback because I can tease you about it forever byeeee,” gabbles Yvette, gathering pace as she speaks so that the end of the sentence is almost unintelligable, and culminates in a long electronic beep as the line cuts out.

“She hung up on me,” says Rhys, gazing at the phone in astonishment. “She hung up on-”

 

Vasquez rolls over and snatches the phone out of Rhys' hand. “No phones in bed. It's rude.”

“Oh, well, I am so, so, _so_ very sorry about-”

“Also it spoils the mood.”

“It _what_?”

“Come on now, don't play stupid. We both know you heard.”

“It does not 'spoil the mood', Hugo, because there is no 'mood' to spoil. Other than the mood I am in because my friends are bad people! There- it- I-,” Rhys splutters for a second, dumbfounded.

Vasquez takes the opportunity to prop his chin up on his hands, grinning smugly up at Rhys in a manner which is repellent slimy and disgusting and definitely not in any way attractive at all.

For entirely unrelated reasons, Rhys momentarily loses track of what he was saying.

Vasquez rolls over again, yawns, and stretches out. “Lost for words? I do find I have that effect on people.”

“Argh!” says Rhys.

Vasquez raises an eyebrow.

Rhys flops back down onto the bed and plonks his face onto the pillow, for the optimal quiet screaming experience.

“Seriously, Rhys, it's five in the morning. Go back to sleep.”

“I'm not going to sleep here!”

“Ok, well, you're welcome to keep bending your naked ass over all around the room looking for your clothes in the dark if you're really determined. Honestly, I was enjoying that.”

“Urgh.”

“And then you've gotta walk halfway across the space station to get back to yours.”

“Urghh.”

“Where Yvette will probably be waiting for you, looking smug.”

“Urghhhh. Fine, I'll stay for a bit.”

Vasquez hums contentedly, and wraps his arms around Rhys.

“Don't push it,” Rhys grumbles, but he doesn't make any move to shove Vasquez away. He's tired, after all, and Vasquez is, if nothing else, undeniably comfortable...

 

*****

 

When Rhys wakes up for the second time, he finds himself in a bed which is (other than by himself, of course), unoccupied. For a moment he almost thinks the whole thing might have just been a bizarre and unusually vivid dream, but as he cracks his eyes open further he can see he is most certainly still in Vasquez's room. He sits up, peering toward the door through to what must be the kitchen at the far side of the room.

“Hey,” says Vasquez, popping his head into the room and looking vaguely surprised, “Oh, you _are_ awake. You want eggs?”

“Eggs?” says Rhys, taking in the frying pan in Vasquez's hand - and the 'Kiss the Cook' apron he's wearing, which... ew. Gross.

“Yeah, y'know, the sort you eat? For breakfast? Or can you not afford that down on Hall C?”

“Ok, just because I don't have some ridiculous cushy apartment to myself up here-”

Vasquez holds up a hand. “Hey. None of that. What kind of guest are you, Rhys? Terrible manners. Now. Do you want eggs, or not?”

“I... uh... yes? I think.”

“You think?”

“I mean... you're not going to like, poison them? Take out the competition.”

Vasquez laughs as he goes to light the stove. “Oh, spoken like a true businessman. No, of course I'm not.”

“Well, that's, uh, that's good I guess.”

“I mean of course if I was, I wouldn't _tell_ you, so hey, if risky eggs is your thing...”

“Do you have to make everything sound weirdly sexual? I mean do you stop? Ever?”

“Rhys, if 'risky eggs' is sounding sexual to you, I promise, that's all in your own dirty mind. But hey, no judgement. Everyone's gotta be into some weird shit sometimes, right?”

 

Rhys doesn't bother arguing that one, mostly because arguing with Vasquez inevitably ends with Vasquez looking smug and Rhys himself feeling vaguely uncomfortable. In any case, Vasquez looks busy with the cooking, so it's probably best not to disturb him. If the eggs are going to be poisoned, they might at least be non-burned poisoned eggs. Rhys does have some standards, even if that might not be very apparent at the current moment.

“There,” says Vasquez, after a moment or two, swanning out of the kitchen with two plates of passable looking eggs on toast, and handing one to Rhys with that stupid smirk plastered back over his stupid face, “One plate of totally non-poisoned eggs.”

Rhys grunts his thanks, and tucks in. At least while he's eating he can focus on that and not on the fact that he slept with Vasquez, of all people. Vasquez! Urgh. Although, admittedly, on a totally physical level entirely unrelated to his co-workers shitty shitty personality-

“It's the toast that's poisoned,” says Vasquez, “Surprise!”

Rhys chokes, eyes bulging.

Vasquez doubles over laughing. “Nah, I'm kidding, I'm kidding – but ha, the look on your face, though! Man, I should have taken a picture.”

“That's... really not funny.”

“It's kinda funny. Anyway, you shouldn't be so gullible – it's one of the reasons you'll just never get ahead in the corporate world. I mean, think about it – if I poison you now, there's no way I get round two. Unless I guess it was slow-acting but, come on, do I seem like the kinda guy to just murder somebody in cold blood over a petty little business grudge?”

“Round two? Are you serious?”

Vasquez ignores him, and carries on rambling away, “I mean, other than maybe Henderson but, jeez, that guy, right? I mean you suck up to him and you suck up to him and he's still just such an _ass_.”

Rhys has to laugh at that, despite himself, “Oh, god, tell me about it. And does he do that thing to you where he goes on and on about something and you think it's a leadup to him giving you a payrise and then he just ends up telling you about somebody else he's going to promote?”

“Yes! And you just want to shake him, right?”

“Give him a good kick...”

“Chuck him out an airlock...”

 

They both stare off into the mid-distance, looking slightly dreamy. “Man,” says Rhys, after a moment, “I hate that guy.”

Vasquez leans in, resting his chin on Rhys' shoulder. “Mmm... you hate our boss, I hate our boss... its like we have so much in common, you know?”

“Where is this going?”

“Just reflecting on the whole, uh,” Vasquez grabs their plates and goes to ditch them on the table, “ah, the whole _synergy_ thing we've got going on. We have lots of similar goals – I mean, in a career sense, of course, because we both want the same job and probably are going to end up physically fighting each other for it at some point – but also in a more general sense. I mean, I'm ambitious, you're ambitious... I like money, you like money... I have, ha, I have definitely got a hard-on right now and you...” Vasquez climbs back onto the bed and squints at Rhys's crotch for a moment, head tilted slightly.

“Ok well I obviously do have a boner so I don't know what the hell that expression is supposed to imply.”

“Are you sure? Because there is not a lot to see from this angle.”

“YES! I'M SURE!”

“If you say so...” says Vasquez, leaning down slightly and squinting intently. “You know what? I'm not feeling it. I don't think you do.”

“Not _seeing_ it.”

“Yeah, that too.”

“Oh for fuck's sake,” grumbles Rhys, and pulls Vasquez in for a kiss, which is probably the only way to effectively shut him up.

 

Vasquez being Vasquez, kissing actually turns out to not be hugely effective as a means of making him be quiet. Sure, he stops talking, but he makes ridiculous growly noises, and Rhys can actually _feel_ that horrible smug smile pressed up against his mouth. Also, Vasquez has a definite case of wandering hands, although Rhys has to admit that since he himself has a case of actually quite enjoying being groped by Vasquez, he probably can't really complain about that.

Vasquez laughs, slightly breathless. “You know, you're kinda cute when you're not being an insufferable prick and ruining my career.”

“Thanks. You look annoying literally all the time and I hate your beard.”

“Ouch.”

“But hey, I'm here. So I guess you must have something going for you.”

Vasquez chuckles again, kissing his way down Rhys' chest. “Aw, I never knew you cared.”

“Yeah, yeah, don't get any ideas. Come monday we'll both be back to trying to trip each other into the fountain in the lunch- woah, wait, what are you doing?”

Vasquez has reached Rhys' hipbone by this point. He plants another kiss there before glancing up and raising an eyebrow. “I feel like it's reasonably obvious where this is going.”

“Ok, well, it needs to stop going there. Right now. It's one thing if we're both drunk, but I'm stone-cold sober and I have no excuse. None at all.”

“Do you want one?”

Rhys takes a moment to consider if he has any shame left at all, and then decides that he does not “... yes.”

“Then look at it like this. You're gonna turn down a blow job? It'd be one thing if you were drunk and not thinking straight, right, but you're gonna turn this down while stone-cold sober?”

“I... like the way you think.”

“Hey, you know, I've got pretty good at lying to myself in order to justify morally dubious decisions. It's kind of a talent. And of course I am always here to share my many talents with those less naturally gifted than myself.”

“Yeah, whatever you say, Vasquez.”

“Hey, but you're on board, right? So clearly I must be pretty talented at it. Just saying.”

“Great, sure you are. Now if you could maybe stop with the talking and carry on with the whole, you know, sucking my dick business...”

“Rhys,” says Vasquez, “you're a romantic. I never knew.” And then, for once in his life, he actually does stop talking.

 

Rhys enjoys the silence very, very much.

 

 


End file.
